


Sammich

by Haldane



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (1984 TV), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Crack, Multi, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-11
Updated: 2012-07-11
Packaged: 2017-11-09 14:51:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/456730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Haldane/pseuds/Haldane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Co-Authored with the lost and lamented moustache_wax and october_9_1890 from livejournal.com.</p>
<p>Summary:  Silly.  No plot.  Some porn.  Rude words.  Anachronisms.  Deliberately changing fonts to indicate multiple authorship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sammich

 

"Watson..."   "Yes, Holmes?"  Holmes chewed thoughtfully. "I say, this sandwich is so good it's given me an erection." He spoke with his mouth full, but tried to delicately cover it with his long white hand.  Watson sat bolt upright, and dropped the copies of the Globe, Star, Pall Mall, St. James's, Evening News, Standard and Echo that were in his lap. Now his own member was erect and begging for the attentions of the man in the chair opposite. He reached across and clasped Holmes' free hand in his own. "I'm going to bugger you senseless, right now!"  "Ok, but let me finish my drink first."

==========

 

 

On the other side of the door Mrs. Hudson giggled to herself as she put 4 stars on her recipe card for oyster sandwiches. She made her way to the kitchen with high hopes for the spanish fly soup she planned for dinner.

 

==========

 

 

**...placing her video camera back on the recharger along the way.**

 

==========

 

 

...whilst Lestrade peeped through the windows, wanking all the while. "Good job, Martha" he chuckled, blinking into the end part of the binoculars which is not the lens, but the other bit one looks into. _I should really Google that_ , he thought absently, pausing his ministrations long enough to take a sip of coffee.

 

He heard the steps behind him creeping into the passage, then into the room of the empty house.

 

“I hope you observed all precautions, Mrs. Hudson?” said Lestrade, without turning around.

 

"I went about it on my knees, as it were..."

 

"Well done. And did you remember to recharge the video camera?"

 

"Of course!" she snapped. "Now, it may be my turn to wear the moustache," said she, slowly, menacingly, "but it's your turn to bottom."

 

Lestrade stood up straight at that, his lips twitching between a smile and a grimace. Martha was hung like a horse, and proud cut too...

 

Without ceremony, she dropped his trousers and bent him over the sill. It was whispered in his ear, that last thing he heard before his own shout shattered the silence.

 

" _Eyepiece!_ It's called the eyepiece, you fool!"

 

==========

**As no one answered the front door, Mycroft let himself in. He hesitated as he approached the sitting room door. There, in Mrs. Hudson's fine hand, hung a sign: _Pray do not come a'knocking if the room's a'rocking._**

**'Ah, hmm, ah, yes.' Mycroft thought to himself. Once again he was late for the "sound rogerings all 'round" session at Baker Street. Not wanting to miss out completely, he decided, in defiance of the sign, to go a'knocking. He pounded on the sitting room door, using only his fully engorged penis...**

==========

 

 

The two noises from outside roused the temporarily resting forms of Holmes and Watson.

 

"Is that someone at the door?" asked Holmes.

 

"No, it was outside in the street, " answered his friend.

 

"Well, I'll check the window and you check the door," Holmes ordered, still unable to control his dom tendencies.

 

Holmes was still trying to comprehend the extraordinary sight of Lestrade hanging out of the window of the house opposite howling incoherently when he heard Watson exclaim delightedly. "Mycroft! And just in time too; your brother's about done in for the day." There was some sort of scuffling noise and a slam; when Holmes turned around he was alone in the room.

 

==========

 

 

Spying a note on the table, Holmes scanned it for some clue as to Watson's whereabouts.

 

_Sugarnipples,_

_I've just popped over to the Diogenes Club for some rumpy-pumpy with your brother. Be back later._

_Love,_

_Watson_

 

==========

 

 

Obviously it was some sort of a code; Holmes wished he had another powerful intellect to help him work on it. At that moment, Moriarity appeared from behind the bookcase.

 

"Oh, good!" Holmes exclaimed. "I was just wishing for another powerful intellect. Can you make any sense out of this?"

 

Somewhat off balance due to the warmth of his welcome, Professor Moriarity scanned the piece of paper, then began sniggering. "You don't understand what the term 'rumpy-pumpy' means?" he asked.

 

"No. I've not encountered the word before."

 

"Well, come over here and I'll show you," the evil, perverted, imaginative, and strangely attractive (in a dark way) mastermind leered.

 

==========

 

 

**30 minutes and one tube of _Ye Olde Victorian KY_ ™ later, Holmes exclaimed, "Oh, so that's what it means!"**

**Moriarty evil-grinned and batted his lashes.**

**Holmes smiled back sexily before remembering why he wanted to know what rumpy-pumpy meant in the first place. The reality of it hit him like an anvil. "Then my Watson? With my brother? Oh, this won't do!" Throwing on his dressing gown, Holmes called to the professor, "To the Diogenes Club!"**

**The Baker Street Irregulars were dumbstruck as they watched the procession go down the road. There was Sherlock Holmes, open dressing gown flowing in the breeze, followed closely by Professor Moriarty, modestly wrapped in a bedsheet. A few feet behind them lagged an eager Mrs. Hudson, clutching binoculars still strapped around the neck of Lestrade, who appeared to have great difficulty walking properly.**

 

==========

 

 

At the Diogenes Club, Watson slumped in his chair. "I'm sorry Mycroft, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but I just feel so damned guilty about having rumpy-pumpy with anyone but my own dear flower."

 

"I understand." Mycroft nodded solemnly, but there was a sinister gleam in his eye as he picked up the tray. "Here, have a sandwich..."

 

==========

 

 

The motley crew burst into the Stranger's Room of the Diogenes Club. Mycroft guiltily dropped the tray of rohypnol sandwiches he was holding. "Not with my love-pumpkin, you don't!" his brother declared, sweeping a slightly glazed Watson into his arms.

 

Mycroft took one look at the array of talent in the room and decided he wasn't coming out of this empty-handed. The cunning diplomatist cried out "Let's all play trains!"

 

"Watson goes in front, and me next," the equally-cunning Sherlock declared, thus insulating his love-pumpkin from any stray hands. Moriarity slid in next (so to speak), followed by Mycroft, the now thoroughly-outed Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade.

 

"I don't mind being at the end," the policeman confessed. "In fact, it would be rather a relief."

 

"Quick!" Wiggins ordered the other Irregulars. "Close all the curtains but one, then spread the news. Charge ten shillings for a thirty second look." He handed Todd Mycroft's watch to keep time with.

 

==========

 

 

They piled onto each other, grunting and rumpy-pumping away in a fit of unspeakable ecstasy. They were a sweaty, glorious sex locomotive. Wiggins was making money hand over fist.

 

"Wait, stop!" a voice rang out. They all paused, looking up with confused countenance (except Lestrade, who was very close, and only pretending to listen.)

 

The voice belonged to Holmes, who abruptly pulled out of Watson, and disengaged himself from Moriarty. They all felt the serious and sombre mood, and fell into a hush, despite their extreme sexual frustration.

 

Holmes stood up, stretching up to his full height. "Can't you see what's _happening_ here!?!" He beat his fist passionately against his naked chest.

 

_Oh bugger, he's falling into a reverie..._ thought Moriarty unkindly.

 

"All this time, we've been chasing rainbows and sandwiches, and what blind bastard beetles we've been." His voice broke with emotion. "Look, the answer was here all along, with each other!" He strode to the window, looking out of it. The crowd had paused in their self-abuse too, listening to the majestic voice issuing from the room, and quietly staring at his majestic tadger.

 

"We have made the ultimate sandwich, the sandwich of _teamwork_."

 

There was not a dry eye, or area, in the house.

 

Everyone began crying and hugging one another. Lestrade was too emotional to notice he'd reached his completion, but what did it matter? Even Moriarty repented of his crimes, taking Mycroft's moist hand in his.

 

Sobbing quietly, Watson walked to the side of his beloved at the window. "Oh, my dear, dearest darling! How beautiful!" He clutched the long white hand in his own. "I never knew you felt this way, and I would make sandwiches with you always!" Holmes did not answer for a while, lost in thought.

 

"What?" said Holmes, knitting his brow. "Oh, a sandwich!" he answered, coming back with a start to the realities of life. "Oh yes, please; I am rather peckish after all that buggery."

 

**THE END**

 

**Epilogue:**

**And so life settled down into its new routine. "Sugarnipples" and "Love-pumpkin" occupied the 221B lodgings in nauseating domestic bliss, while Lestrade came by from time to time; being involved with cases upstairs and serious rogerings downstairs. (They never let on about the moustache and the video camera, however.)**

**Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft went into business together, opening a chain of cafes offering the "Rumpy-pumpy Special", a suggestively-shaped baguette with oysters, secretly laced with both spanish fly and rohypnol. Moriarty put up the venture capital, and used his criminal organization to ensure sudden vacancies in a dozen prime locations, and Mycroft used his connections and extremely large genital endowment to prevent any hassles about licences or health department inspections.**

**It was Wiggins (who demanded a seat on the board and a new pair of shoes in exchange for a 10% investment) who solved the argument about the name. Martha and Mycroft were still arguing about who should get first billing, when the exasperated kid butted in. "Oh, just call them M & M's. It sounds like a good name for _something_ ".**

 


End file.
